


You Keep Me Up, I Keep Your Memory Alive

by doctornemesis



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Last Kiss, Last Time, Loss, M/M, Memories, Moving On, Sex, True Love, poor Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornemesis/pseuds/doctornemesis
Summary: After an exhausting day, Marco allows himself to feel something he's denied himself continuously over the past two years—pleasure, and the memories that follow them. Memories, it's all he has left.





	You Keep Me Up, I Keep Your Memory Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this fic wrecked me as I wrote it. I've never written anything like this, but I was inspired to after reading Chaper 909 a few weeks ago, and my brain wouldn't drop it. So, I'll go sit in the corner and think about these two being happy, and Ace most definitely being alive, damn it.

  Marco can still see Ace there when his weary eyes finally close sometime throughout the night or early morning out of pure exhaustion, panting for breath as the blonde runs his fingers through damp hair that could rival the purest of coal, sweat gathered at either side of the younger man’s temples. His lips are swollen, kiss bitten. A sense of pride and another shot of searing pleasure courses through Marco’s veins at having been the cause, the inception as well as the resolution to the other man’s lust.

 

  Memories, it’s all he has left.

 

  The first and last time their mouths pressed in a constant tug-of-war, their hands caressing each others naked form, bodies propelling forward, urging each other on, daring each of them to knock down every boundary that reared its ugly head. Marco clamps down on the urge to cry, eyes welling up as his nose creases, sensitive in a manner that aches and makes his heart stall in his chest all at once. No, none of that.

 

  No death.

 

  No pain.

 

  Just those desperate, breathy little moans Ace used to make for him when Marco continued to tease him long past his breaking point. Marco groans as his back arches just so off of his bed, hips thrusting up in one, two, three shallow movements as he takes himself loosely in hand. A ghost of a touch for a ghost of a man. Marco can’t let go, and he won’t. The bereavement he felt still after two years without his brother, his father and the one true love of his life never waned in its intensity.

 

  The last time, the last time the two came together, had been different. Marco feels he should have known that Ace felt off; did know, but didn’t know _what_ , exactly. Ace, so temperamental, so daring. So stupid. The whimpers, the small pleads of, “Yes. Please. Marco, I need you.”

 

  “I need you.”

 

  “I _need_ you.”

 

  Ace had alway been adamant that he needed nothing from no one, and if he did something, acted on some sort of desire of his, it was out of want, but never need. That night; however, played out differently, and, at first, Marco believed it to be a side effect of loss, of Ace’s grief over Thatch’s murder and Teach’s betrayal. A stuttering, ragged breath tears past his lips as his hand speeds up, body pleading for him to stay on task, to satiate his bodily needs as he remembers, in detail, just how Ace’s teeth felt against the sensitive portions of his neck, little nips and bites that bruise just so. The kid loved to mark him up and down, to _possess_ him, and Marco loved to be possessed by him; returning the favor by marking his chest, neck and back, leaving behind a trail of deep, dark bruises that Ace displayed with a knowing grin at anyone who dared to look upon him with a questioning gaze. Fearless, that one.

 

  Fearless and stupid, his mind echoes.      

 

  “Marco, please,” his mouth pleaded, he remembers, knees bent with his long, thick legs spread wide open just for him, ready and waiting for Marco as one of his hands twists into the pillow above his head, the other clutching at the silk sheets crumpled underneath him. His cock was hard, strained up against his stomach, precome dripping down over taut abs. Marco loved the sight, couldn’t get enough of it as he let his eyes travel as they willed.

 

  “Are my fingers not enough?” he asked, and god, did they feel warm curled up deep inside the other man, rocking up into him in perfect sync with Ace’s beautifully sculpted hips.

 

  “You know they’re not!” he shouted, and there laid that hint of childishness that Ace denied even as others chastised him for it, but Marco didn’t say a word that night, only gave him a lazy grin in turn as he leaned down, down, down until his free hand was able to caress Ace’s cheek, lips sealed together in an explosive, compact kiss.  

 

  Marco scissored his fingers one last time before removing them, pressing his body in between Ace’s thighs as he hoisted the other man's leg up over his hip, making room for himself as he prepared to ravage the man of his affection. If Ace needed him, then Marco determined he would be there...in any way, shape or form. As he aligned himself with Ace’s entrance, the fire logia grew desperate, clutching at Marco’s shoulders as the elder of the two pushed steadily in.

 

  “I hate this Island,” he had growled, lips pressed against Ace’s ear as he bottomed out. Ace gasped, eyes sealed shut and brows furrowed as a full body shudder consumed him. “I hate when your body is draped under layers, hidden. It should be a _sin_.”

 

  Ace groaned at that, his eyes opening to stare longingly into Marco’s face as he finally, finally began to rock into him, steady as the calmest of waves. “ _Fuck_ , Marco. Yes,” he moaned, biting his bottom lip as Marco’s hands traveled to his firm ass, spreading his cheeks to intensify the feeling of Marco’s cock driving into him with hard, well-timed thrusts.

 

  Ace found no interest in the barren Winter Island, and neither did Marco though he had had responsibilities to attend to that day, but once dealt with in record time, he might add, he found his way back to his quarters, pleased to see Ace already there, making himself at home upon his bed, naked under the multitude of covers he'd procured before they made landfall. A tease, that one. A tormentor he could not refuse as he begun to strip at the sight of Ace’s bare chest and stretched torso.

 

  “Earth to Marco,” Ace murmured, lips pressed sloppily against his own. “Where’d you go? I need you here, you goof.”

 

  Marco smirked, kissing him with a firm press of lips against lips, his tongue sliding across Ace’s bottom lip, his teeth following close behind in a slight nip. “Mmm, I’m sorry,” he murmured, lifting Ace up until he was sitting in his lap, causing them both to groan at the newfound position as his mouth left little kisses along the other man’s jaw, down along his bared throat.

 

  “Hah, Marco, yes. _Yes_ ,” Ace said, voice low and almost hoarse as he rolled his hips downwards, meeting Marco’s thrusts headon. “I love this. I _love_ you.”

 

  The choked out way those last few words were spoken only made Marco want him more in that moment. “Heh, Ace, you always know just what to say to rile me up,” he said, one hand against Ace’s hip, the other wrapped loosely around his throat. “Always getting the _most_ out of me.”

 

  Ace gave a charming smile punctuated by the absolute lust riddled in his half-lidded eyes and flushed, freckled cheeks, rising up onto his knees before crashing down. Marco grunted, tightening his grip around Ace’s throat as the tight, tight heat of his body engulfed him. He released his hold on Ace’s hip to thread his fingers through that thick, endlessly black hair of his, yanking on it as he forced the other’s head down, lips seeking lips as he licked and bit at such a full mouth. A wicked mouth, he thought with a devious grin. Ace caught the fire held within eyes, and whimpered, fucking himself faster on Marco’s cock, like he owned him, and maybe he did.

 

  Surely, he did.   

 

  “Ace, I want you on all fours,” he had breathed, teeth latching onto the side of that beautiful neck of his, soft and pliant under the pointed ends of his canines. Ace moaned as he tilted his head back, nodding just once as Marco continued to press sharp, little bites wherever he could.

 

  Marco loved when Ace unraveled like this, head turned to the side on a cool pillow, propped up on his forearms with his knees spread wide and his ass high up in the air. A soft pant left his lips as Marco filled him back up, stretching him until he could do little more than thrust his hips back. Marco’s affinity for Ace’s tattoo, the symbol of his loyalty to Whitebeard, to _him_ made his chest swell and his cock twitch in appreciation. And unlike Teach—the traitor—Marco knew Ace’s loyalty held true. A smile overtook his features then, a swift hand coming down upon one of Ace’s perfect cheeks in a resounding slap as he remembered the first few weeks of Ace’s arrival, and how different he felt and acted towards Whitebeard, the crew, and Marco most of all. Ace gasped at the contact, and so Marco did it again with no hesitation once so ever.

 

  “Marco!” he yelped, staring back at him with a mixture of hunger and humiliation that the elder of the two loved to exploit.

 

  Ace licked his lips before he buried his face into the pillow below, and Marco followed him, his chest pressed against that beautiful back of his as he nosed at the nape of his neck, biting and kissing the sensitive flesh. Ace whined at the attention lavished upon him as he rutted his hips forward, trying to gain some relief and friction for his aching cock. Marco took it upon himself to place one hand over Ace’s, their fingers intertwining as his other hand slithered its way underneath Ace's body, taking his poor, neglected cock in hand as he jerked him off in slow, deliberate motions.

 

  “Yes, _yes_ , yes,” Ace hissed, hips grinding forward as he chased his pleasure, knowing full well that Marco would work him all the way through it, he always did. “Fuck, I love you. I love this. I love you, and I need you, and I wish...please don’t be ma—”

 

  Ace never did finish that sentence as his orgasm tore through him, effectively silencing him, and though Marco found his words curious, he didn’t pry further, and god does he wish that he had. In that moment, Marco wonders if Ace was about to slip up and tell him. Or ask him if he would go with him, knowing that it would have been a foolish thing to do, and a tear slips through his guard, sliding down a sharp, sullen cheek. His chest aches, knowing that if push came to shove, he would have accompanied Ace to make sure of his safe return back to them—at the very least, he would have sent someone in his stead to watch over him. Marco would have apologized to Pops, and begged for his forgiveness, but he wouldn’t have turned away from Ace, and maybe, maybe both of them would still be alive today.

 

  Marco takes a long, hot shower, his forehead resting against the wall as he lets the water pour down over him. He doesn’t care how weak it makes him feel, his mind arguing that he couldn’t feel anymore powerless than he already does. After he’s clean enough, he shuts it off, and grabbing a towel, makes his way back into his room when he notices the time.

 

  It’s almost dawn, Ace’s favorite time to be awake as he liked to welcome the sun with open arms if it would have him. Marco sighs as he gets dressed, he’ll have to make this visit short as he has the villagers and their ailments to tend to soon. His feet carry him along an all too familiar path, and soon enough, he finds himself before Ace and Pops, but not in a manner he had ever wanted, but it’s better than nothing.

 

  “Good morning, Pops,” he says as he takes a seat upon the grass, crossing his legs beneath him as the dew seeps into his pants. “Morning, Ace.”

 

  Normally, he wouldn’t come until later, when all of his responsibilities had been dealt with and he could breathe without someone else chasing him down last minute. When he could bring two mugs and two bottles of rum; one bottle for Pop’s alone, and one bottle to share between him and Ace—just like old times. When he could drink and cry under the cover of darkness before retiring home to fall into a dreamless slumber most nights which hurt less than dreaming vividly of Ace only to wake up and realize that they could never, ever come true.

 

  He looks to Ace’s grave, placing his hand upon his headstone. “I love you,” he says, voice hoarse as he runs his fingers along the brim of his signature hat, "but I don’t love _this_.”  Marco gives a solemn laugh, choking on his own words as he forces himself to swallow it all down. For a healer; a Phoenix capable of miracles to most people, he found it ironic and painful to concede that he had no way of healing himself. He wipes the tears from underneath his glasses, laughing to himself as he set a bouquet of flowers picked from his garden (all wild, just like him) down beside Ace's dagger, content to pour himself into his work for another day.                

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I realize my userpic doesn't help matters ;-;


End file.
